


Black and Blue

by ficbear



Series: Gunsel [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Beating, Bondage, Deception, Detectives, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Fight Sex, Fingerfucking, Good Cop Bad Cop, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Police, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look, buddy, I've got more than enough father figures as it is, and even if I wanted another you're on the wrong side of forty for that." I bring my free hand up to rest on his shirtfront, and I can feel the heat of his skin, almost like there's nothing between us but air. "So how about you just tell me what this is all about? You didn't tail me all afternoon for a quick dockside fumble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn't take me long to notice the guy tailing me. He's about as subtle as a flashing neon sign. I don't recognise him. Someone from a rival operation, maybe. A cop, or a private detective. Hell, with that determined look on his face, he could be some pickup boy's angry father tracking me down to give me what for. But whoever he is, he looks like he means business, and I don't seem to be able to shake him. Block after block, he's there in my rear mirror, sticking to me like a shadow.

So after I've wasted half the afternoon trying to lose the guy, I decide it's about time I led him somewhere nice and quiet instead. Somewhere I can have a friendly conversation with him, somewhere I can convey just how bad an idea it is to tail someone on the boss's payroll. I let him follow me right across town, all the way to the old warehouses down by the docks, and I make sure I'm slipping through the door of one of them just as he's rounding the corner. And then I get hold of my blackjack, keeping it in my pocket for now, and I wait.

The door opens after a couple of minutes, and I can see straight away that his hands are empty. So either he's the kind of idiot who follows a punk like me into an empty warehouse with no weapon, or he's making a point of going in nice and calm.

"Don't move," I say, getting between him and the door. "Keep your hands where I can see them, or I'll put a few new buttonholes in that nice jacket of yours."

"Alright." He sounds calm, steady and not in any kind of hurry. So I guess he's a professional, but whether he's police or just another hoodlum is still up in the air.

"Why are you following me?"

"I was hoping we could have a conversation."

"Oh yeah?" I take a step forward, jabbing the end of the blackjack into his back through my jacket. "And what's this conversation going to be about?"

"Look, kid, I know you're bluffing." He turns around slowly, and I can see in his eyes just how unafraid he is. "I know you don't carry a gun, it's not your style."

He looks calm alright, but tired. Like he's been following me for a few days, not hours. Now that I can see him up close, I reckon he's maybe ten or fifteen years older than me, maybe less once you take that fatigue out of the equation. A little taller than me, with enough muscle to him that I might not be able get the upper hand if I have to fight him off. Nice-looking, too, except for the earnest look in his eyes. That, I don't like.

"Not my style? How would you know what my style is?" I take the blackjack out of my pocket, letting him get a good look at it. He knows about me, more than you'd get out of an afternoon of tailing. He knows me, and he wants something, and I'm not going to be happy until I've gotten the whole story out of him.

"You know, if I'd been following any of your employer's other hoods, I'd be knocked out and swimming in the harbour by now. But you're different," he says, giving me a long, hot-eyed look, the kind I'd recognise anywhere. "Deep down, you’re a nice boy. If you didn't work for _him_ …"

"But I _do_ work for him." I hold his gaze and match it with a good, long stare of my own. I'm still toying with the blackjack, and I can see his eyes flitting down to the leather and back up again as I talk. "And if you want a nice boy, you're about five years too late."

"It's not too late. Not by a long shot." He puts his hands on my shoulders, not firmly enough to hold me in place, just enough to let me feel the strength in his hands. I don't know whether he's trying to recruit me, reform me, or seduce me, but it's interesting enough that I want to stick around and see where he's going with all this. So I let his hands stay where they are, and I look up at him, trying to figure out how much of that intense look of his is lust and how much is real concern.

"Look, buddy, I've got more than enough father figures as it is, and even if I wanted another you're on the wrong side of forty for that." I bring my free hand up to rest on his shirtfront, and I can feel the heat of his skin, almost like there's nothing between us but air. "So how about you just tell me what this is all about? You didn't tail me all afternoon for a quick dockside fumble."

I never get to hear his reply, because that's when the door opens behind me and things get a whole lot more complicated.

 "Well, this is out of character." The guy in the doorway laughs, and I can see the other guy's eyes hardening and freezing over as he talks. "Stopping to get a piece of some cheap little punk while you're on duty? You've been working under me too long, Harper. My bad habits are rubbing off on you."

Harper gives a bitter little laugh, and takes his hands off my shoulders. "I thought it was just the docks that smelled rotten, but I should have known it was you, Garrett."

I glance behind me, and I can just make out the lines of the gun in the new guy's hand. So evidently he doesn't take chances the way his friend Harper does. I turn around, nice and slow, eager to get a look at him. Now _he's_ definitely the right side of forty, tall and broad and greying at the temples, with a look in his eyes like a shark catching the scent of blood.

"That's DI Garrett, if you don't mind. If you want to play the upstanding officer, you can start by addressing me properly," he says, giving Harper a long, sneering smile. "Now why don't you go back to the station and get on with some work, eh? I'll wrap this up."

"Wait, you–"

"Go on," Garrett cuts him off, sharp and hard. "Out."

Harper gives me one last look, and does as he's told. And now me and this Garrett are alone in the warehouse, and that look in his eyes isn't getting any less predatory.

"Of course, you're not just _any_ cheap little punk, are you?" He holsters his gun and advances on me, coming up close enough that I can smell the smoke on his suit. "You're a well-connected one, to say the least. And I'll bet he pays you well, that boss of yours, doesn't he?"

It shouldn't work on me, I should be immune to this by now, but it does and I'm not. I'm really not. I can feel my body reacting, even as I'm trying to clamp down on it. Still, I've had plenty of practice at playing it cool while my instincts are trying to get me killed, and I keep my expression neutral as I look up at him and shrug. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" He puts a hand on my shoulder, and it's a hell of a lot less gentle than his friend's was. "Alright, so you're just a nobody, just an anonymous bit of street trash, working on his own. Is that about right?"

I keep my eyes fixed on his, pushing back a little against his hand. "Yeah, that's right."

"Well then." Garrett's thumb rubs along my collarbone, firm and insistent. "How about earning a bit of money the old-fashioned way, while you're down here?"

I let my lips curl into a smile. "Wouldn't say no."

"I'll bet you wouldn't."

He gives me a little push, and I sink to my knees. I'd like to say it's a strategic decision, that I'm thinking long-term about the advantages of having a detective in my pocket, that I've got a plan to make sure this guy and his friend Harper never get anywhere near the boss's business, but we all know that'd be a lie. I'm kneeling there because the only thing that comes more naturally to me than getting myself into trouble is getting myself roughed up and fucked by men old enough to be my father.

"How much is this going to get me?" I pause, letting my fingers rest against his fly.

He takes his wallet out of his jacket, and throws a few notes down onto the ground next to me. "You're in luck, Daddy's just been paid."

I glance down at the money. He's not cheap, I'll give him that. So I carry on unfastening his trousers, and once I've got my fingers wrapped around his cock I give it a good, long squeeze. "Then I'll have to be a good boy for you, won't I?"

"Yeah, you couldn't be a good boy if you tried, could you?" He cups his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me forward, rubbing his cock against my face. "That's why you're on your knees, sucking cock for money you don't need."

I laugh, but he's right. It looks like he knows my habits as well as his friend Harper does, and he's got no qualms about using me. So I wrap my hands around the shaft of his cock and get to work, letting him feel my lips and tongue and fingers on every inch, sucking it like I can't get enough. And to be honest, I can't. I push myself down again and again, taking it as far as I can, just enough to make my eyes start to water before I come up for air. I chase the feeling of choking, just skirting the edge of pushing too far, hungry for the discomfort and the adrenaline, and he must realise this is more for my pleasure than his, because that hand moves up to grab my hair, and he holds me in position while he fucks my mouth, giving me just the first few inches each time.

What I want, what I _need_ , is just out of reach, and I get an urge to let him feel my teeth, just to see if that'll needle him into letting me really have it. But there's still that gun in his holster, and I've got half my mind on what'll come next after this, so I keep still like a good boy and let him fuck my mouth however he pleases. I've still got one hand curled around his shaft, wet with my saliva now, and I let my fingers take over the work my lips really want to be doing, stroking him nice and firm every time he pushes forward. And he seems to like that, because it's not long after I start working my fingers that he pulls my head down, knocks my hand out of the way and drives his cock into my throat again, finally giving me the whole length of it. When he starts to come I barely taste it, not until he's pulling back to let the last few sprays coat my tongue and lips, and then I let a little of his come drip down along my chin, just enough that he can watch me lick it up.

And he does watch. Even once he's done, once he's zipped up and I've wiped my mouth dry, he keeps his gaze fixed on me. Only there's an odd look in his eyes now, odd enough that I wonder for a minute if he's going to pull that gun again. But instead he just yanks my head back my the hair, holding me in place with his hand a whole lot tighter than it needs to be.

"I'm going to give you a bit of advice," he says, smiling the kind of smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "That boss of yours, the one you don't know anything about. He's on the way out. A few months, a year maybe. You need to start thinking about whether you really want to go down with him."

"Yeah?" I pull away, trying to shrug off the hand in my hair. "What's the alternative?"

"Someone legitimate. Someone who can see to it that you don't end up keeping your boss company once he's behind bars." He lets go of my hair, shoves me down to the ground and walks off without waiting to hear my answer. But at the door he turns and throws me a smile, like he thinks he's just made me an irresistible offer. "I'll be in touch."

And then he's gone, and I'm alone on the floor of the warehouse, picking up the money and wondering how the hell I'm going to get out of this mess.


	2. Chapter 2

I look out of the window while I'm zipping my jacket up, just in case, but he's still there, waiting near enough to the streetlamp that I can see his face clearly. I've had Harper following me for a week now, and for all I know Garrett could be doing the same but subtler. At first the sight of Harper waiting out there like a sentinel made me furious, but now I'm a lot more cheerful about the whole thing. With somewhere between one and two detectives on my back, there's not much I can do, so I've taken to treating this like a holiday. If I can't go about my normal business, if I've got to steer clear of all the boss's places, then all that leaves me with is free time and an appetite for mischief that needs a bit of exercise.

So I go out each day, and I lead Harper around all the places I'd never normally have time to go. Cafes and bars that have nothing to do with the boss, where I sit on one side of the room and Harper sits on the other, and occasionally I send him a coffee or a cocktail to say hello. Shops where I make him follow me into the changing rooms, where I let him get a glimpse of what he's really after through the curtains, just enough to give him the odd sleepless night. Parks where I'd never normally cruise, where he has to stand and wait while I chat up half a dozen other men, deciding who I'm going to go home with this time. And I _do_ always go home with them, because I've no intention of giving Harper even the slightest excuse to put me in a cell for the night. The next time I'm alone with him, it's going to be on my terms, not his.

And now it's almost time for Harper to get what he wants, but he needs to do a little more chasing first. Normally I give him a smile or a wave when I leave the flat, but tonight I keep my head down. I hurry out of the front door and into the cab waiting for me, looking back over my shoulder just once, so he gets a good look at the fear on my face. And then I tell the cabbie to take me to the train station, fast. Harper follows the cab about as doggedly and blatantly as he's been following me all along, but this time when I get out of the car and start dragging my holdall along toward the station doors, he bolts toward me and grabs hold of my arm.

"What happened?" He looks almost as panicked as I do, and his hand is tight enough around my arm that I'm going to have bruises tomorrow. "Where are you going?"

"Away, anywhere, just–" I tug my arm out of his grip, and I give him a glare that's half fury and half desperation. "Let go of me, this is all _your_ fault!"

And that must have hit the mark, because he just stands there as I rush off to the ticket office, and I've made it all the way to the platform before he's caught up with me. I get the feeling he doesn't want to hear what I might say to him next, because he's back to his usual watching-from-a-distance approach, and he doesn't even sit in the same carriage as me. But he's there, I can see him through the window of the carriage door, watching me like a hawk in case I decide to make a break for it at one of early stops. I settle back into my seat, staring out of the window at the night sky, and I can see my face lit up in the window's reflection, pale and wide-eyed as if I'm running for my life.

 

* * *

 

At first I think he's not going to have the nerve to go all the way with this. I've half resigned myself to a boring night alone in my cheap little hotel room, but after a couple of hours of waiting, there's a quiet knock at my door. I give it a minute, making him wait out there long enough to wonder whether I'm going to let him in, before I open the door just enough to see his face.

"It's you… I thought–" I shake my head, open the door and pull him into the hotel room quickly. His eyes go straight to the flimsy little robe I'm wearing, draped loosely around me so I'm showing just enough bare flesh to whet his appetite, and he looks like he's considering just tearing the robe off me and going for what he really wants. But he won't, not yet. Not until I've given him a bit more of an excuse. Once I've locked the door behind us, I raise my voice again, but I stay where I am, facing the door so he can't see my eyes.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" I hiss, letting my voice crack a little. "It's not enough that you've followed me all the way here? You've got to come up to my room, too? If you were followed–"

"I wasn't followed." Harper says, grabbing my shoulders and turning me back around. I can smell alcohol on his breath, so I guess he spent that last couple of hours in the hotel bar, working up some nerve or drowning his inhibitions.

"But if you _were_ , if he knows you're here…" I shrug off his hands, letting one shoulder of my robe slip down a bit as I move, and I can see Harper's eyes flicking down to the skin it uncovers. "He already thinks I'm cooperating with you, and now he's going to be sure of it. He's going to– He'll–" I let the words hang unspoken, as if I can't bring myself to say it.

"Then why don't you cooperate?" Those hands come up my shoulders again, and this time they edge onto my bare skin, warm and firm and rough.

"And end up being kept in a cell somewhere, ready and waiting for whenever your friend Garrett feels like a chat?" I turn away again, and I make my way across to the bedside table. I've left out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, so as far as Harper's concerned I've been matching his pace drink for drink all night, and I can feel his eyes on me as I pour myself another glass. I sit on the edge of the bed and down the drink like I'm knocking back medicine, then pour myself a refill.

Harper sits down next to me and puts a hand on my knee, rubbing it lightly with his thumb. "Garrett's after you too?"

"Wants me to work for him." I let my words run together a little, like this is my sixth drink rather than my second. It's hard to keep a straight face, given how little I'm having to twist the truth to make it work for me, but I keep my expression fixed somewhere between panic and despair. "He wants whatever belongs to the boss, including me. And he'll have me, too, or–"

"It's alright, I can protect you." He says, but he sounds like even _he_ doesn't believe it. And no matter what his lips are saying, his eyes are running over the bare skin of my chest and thighs like that's the only thing that matters to him, and his hand is moving slowly higher and higher up my leg, squeezing the muscle of my thigh gently.

"It's not alright! You can't, you can't–" I put my glass down heavily, letting bit of whiskey spill over the side. My voice is taut and desperate now, and I look up at him like I'm pleading for mercy. "Not while he's in charge, you can't do anything while he's in charge! You can't do anything, and it's all gone to hell, and there's nowhere I can go and nothing I can do–"

Then Harper slaps me in the face, good and hard, and that's when I know I've got him.

Now normally I'd take a swing at a guy who slapped me like that, just to earn a second dose of it, but that's not going to work on Harper. So I stand up and go over to the window, leaning against the sill, staring out into the night. He's behind me in seconds, pressing up against me and sliding his arms around my waist. I look at him in the window's reflection, holding his gaze. "Maybe you can help me. Maybe you can save me from Garrett. Maybe you can even save me from the boss," I say, quieter now. He's watching me, watching my hands unfasten the belt of my robe, watching the fabric fall aside, like I'm up on stage and he's just in the audience. I let the robe drop to the floor. "But you can't save me from myself."

He turns me around, with those hungry eyes running all over me, devouring me, until watching isn't enough anymore and he pulls me close. His lips are hot and rough against my throat, and his arms wind tightly around me, like he wants to squeeze the life out of me. So it looks like I was right about what really gets Harper hot and bothered, and now that I've got my claws into his weak spot I'm not going to let go. I wrap my arms around his neck, talking softly, close to his ear. "I keep doing these things…I get myself into these situations again and again... Do you know what I did after you left me alone in that warehouse with Garrett?"

He groans against my neck, and I can feel how hard he is, hot and insistent against my thigh, harder than ever now I've started talking. So I keep going, laying it on nice and thick. "He didn't even need to push me around, just a little bit of talk and I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth. Just like it always goes. I always end up like this. I try to resist, but I can't help myself…"

"No," Harper shakes his head, breathing the word out against my throat. His hands move down to cup my ass, squeezing and kneading it hard enough that I can feel his nails digging into my skin. "No, no, you're not that kind of boy, not deep down…"

I let him pull me over to the bed, and I've already got his trousers unfastened by the time he pushes me down onto my back. When my fingers wrap around his cock, Harper groans like he hasn't been touched for weeks, and maybe he hasn't. Maybe he's been saving it all up for me.

"I can't help it, this is all I'm good for…" I say, keeping one arm around his shoulder while I reach over to the bedside cabinet to pick up my lube. And evidently he's got no real intention of stopping this, because he just keeps on running those rough hands all over my body, and pressing those hot lips all over my skin, listening and lapping up every word I say. When I reach down and slick a handful of lube over the length of his cock, he barely gives me enough time to finish the job before he's pushing forward and sliding into me. His words might be sweet and gentle, but there's not a shred of gentleness in the way he gives it to me. He thrusts into my ass deep and hard like he's trying to bruise me, and I let him hear every moan and gasp it drives out of me, close to his ear, where he can't escape what he's doing to me. "That's right, just like that…" I beg, bringing my legs up higher and wider apart, pressing my heels to his back. "Fuck me, hurt me, give me what I deserve…"

"You don't deserve this," he murmurs, but he doesn't have to be told twice. He starts hammering into me harder than ever now, even as he's trying to deny it. And he knows what he's doing, he knows just how to work a boy's body to breaking point, and pretty soon he's got me panting and writhing underneath him, digging my nails into his back to spur him on. He sounds close now, but I'm not done with him yet. I'm not going to let him finish face-to-face, so he can tell himself afterwards that this was all hearts and flowers. So I pull away and twist around beneath him so I'm on my front, and I push back hard enough that he's got no choice but to move with me. And now, now that I'm on my hands and knees with my ass in the air, _now_ I'll let him finish.

"So many times I've been fucked in a cheap hotel room like this…" I groan as he slides his cock back in, spreading my legs as wide as they'll go. "So many nights I've spent on my hands and knees, getting fucked by the boss and his friends, hours and hours of being used like this…"

Harper groans helplessly, gripping my waist tightly and holding me in place as he fucks me. He's nearly there now, and I just need to push him a little further, just a little more.

"Harder, harder, please…" I look over my shoulder at him as I plead for it, letting him see every bit of need and desperation in my face. "I need it, give it to me, hurt me, just like all the others…"

He's shaking his head as starts to come, but that pace doesn't slow for a minute. Harper gives it to me just as hard and rough as I begged for, digging his nails into my skin sharp enough to make me yelp, and I might not be getting satisfaction myself, but knowing he's dancing to my tune is sweet enough that I don't even care. I just want to watch him looking down at me with those stormy eyes full of lust and pity and shame, until he's exhausted himself.

When he's done, Harper stumbles off to the bathroom to get cleaned up, like I'm not even there. I reckon it'll be a few minutes before he's got it together enough to talk to me without all those confusing feelings getting on top of him, so I lie there and keep quiet. I need him in a good mood for what comes next, after all. So I stay on the bed, sprawled out on my side so that he'll get a good look at the rear view when he comes out of the bathroom, and I wait.

He's in there for probably fifteen minutes or so, long enough that I'm getting nervous and thinking about going to check on him, when he finally comes back out. He looks pristine, like he's glued that mask of kindness back together perfectly and now it's good as new, and when he sits down in the chair beside the bed, he looks at me like he's genuinely concerned.

"You need my help." Harper says, firm and serious.

"Okay," I nod. "Okay, how?"

"I can get rid of Garrett, I just need to get my hands on some evidence that'll prove what we all already know. Once he's gone, I can get your boss out of the picture too. From what I've heard Garrett is sitting on enough information to put him away for a long time. I just need to get rid of Garrett, and the rest will be easy."

I look up at him, wide-eyed like I'm shocked at his genius. "You don't have anything on Garrett yet, though?"

"I know it exists. I just need to get in there to steal it." Harper sits back in his chair, staring off into the distance. "I need him out of the way for a few hours, so I can get into his house."

"I can keep him busy." I push myself upright, and move over to the edge of the bed. "I can keep him distracted as long as you want."

Harper looks at me, and I can see that sour fire burning in his eyes again. His hand moves down, just slightly, to rest in his lap. "It can't just be a quick hookup. You need to keep him busy for a couple of hours at least."

"A couple of hours, that's no problem." I get up from the bed and slip astride his lap, and I can feel how hard he is already, jutting up hot and thick against my ass again. "I'll give him the five star service, don't you worry…"

"Go on." Harper grabs hold of my ass, and his fingers slip down the cleft of it to rub against the sore flesh he's only just finished fucking. I can hear a faint little groan in his voice as he talks. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell him that I've changed my mind, that I want to work for him after all." I reach down and unfasten Harper's trousers, and when I lube up his cock he groans again like he might not even make it into my ass this time. "I'll tell him I need to know that he can handle me, that he can keep up with me…"

"Go on," he murmurs, holding onto my waist and pulling me down. I start to ride him, hanging onto the back of the chair and rolling my hips slow and steady, making Harper wait just a little longer this time for his next treat. After a few strokes, he moves his hand up to my hair and grabs a handful, pulling my head back a whole lot rougher than you'd expect from such a _nice_ man. "Go on, then what?"

"I'll let him take me wherever he wants. A cheap hotel like this, a fancy club, wherever. I'll let him use me however he wants, all night if he feels like it. Whatever he wants me to do, I'll do. I'll take it all and beg for more."

Harper thrusts up into my ass, hanging onto me tightly with both hands, and I can tell he's not going to last long this time. So I work my hips faster, harder, grinding and swaying, and I bring my lips close to his ear again. "Just like I did for you."


	3. Chapter 3

The boy comes around the corner at five to nine on the dot, just like Harper said he would. I'm shaking my head inside, because if Harper's known that Garrett keeps this regular timetable all along, he could have easily done this a month ago. But I guess he needed a bit of extra impetus before he could reach out and grab what he wanted, so here I am, waiting to intercept Garrett's regularly-scheduled call-boy, while Harper gets busy with the breaking and entering part of the plan.

He's a nice-looking boy, if a bit young. According to Harper, Garrett's tastes are pretty wide-ranging, so it's a different one every time, with the only common theme being that they're all between twenty and thirty. This one looks like he's just skirting the lower end of that range, and honestly I feel like I might be doing him a favour by persuading him to take the night off. So I step out into his path and give him a nice, friendly smile. He looks like he might run before I've said a word, so I put my hands up, palms outward, trying my best to look like I'm not about to mug him.

"You're on your way to see Garrett, right?"

He takes half a step back, but to his credit he doesn't bolt. "Maybe. Why?"

I take the little bundle of notes out of my pocket and press it into his hand. "You're feeling ill, so you're going to take the night off."

The boy looks down at the money, and now he's not looking half as scared. And I can't blame him, because cash has a wonderfully calming effect on me, too. He pockets the money and gives me a look that says he wants to know what's going on, but not so much that he'd risk asking. "Alright," he says, nodding. "Okay, fine."

And then he's gone, and I'm on my way into the hotel, strolling in casually like I'm on my way to meet a friend. Now all I've got to worry about is whether Garrett's still in the market for a second-hand gunsel.

He's sitting in the lobby when I get there, smoking and reading the paper like he's in his study at home. The study that Harper should be just getting started ransacking right now, if I've got the timing right. I stand in front of him, my hands my pockets, and when he doesn't look up I give him a smirk.

"Your usual boys have to stand and wait til you're done, do they?"

There might be a bit of surprise in Garrett's eyes, but it's only for a second. Then it's all satisfaction and smiles, like he knew I'd show up eventually. Like I'm a dog that's just learnt to fetch. "That's right," he says, putting the paper down and standing up. "And so do you, now."

He puts his hand on my shoulder and starts to steer me toward the door. So I guess we're not going up to some fancy suite after all. I look back over my shoulder at him, giving him a half-raised eyebrow. "Where're we going?" And if I wanted to be really convincing I'd add 'boss' on the end of that, but maybe I'm too sentimental for my own good, because I just _can't_.

He gives me a shove, just enough to make me stumble. "You think I'm going to take you somewhere nice like this?"

I grin, shrugging his hand off and walking ahead a little. "I thought we might be going for dinner."

"Your old boss never bothered teaching you to watch that mouth, did he?"

I have to clench my hands in my pockets to let that one go. Yeah, I really am too sentimental, and if Garrett keeps talking about the boss I'm going to end up wrecking this plan single-handed. But I keep my hands to myself, and I give Garrett another grin. "There's a few lessons I could stand to learn, if you think you're up to it."

"Get in, and keep your mouth shut." He opens the door of his car and shoves me into the passenger seat, then slams the door behind me. So it looks like he's easier to rile than the boss, and that'll probably work in my favour. But for now I do as I'm told, sitting next to him quietly while he drives us god knows where. As long as this trip doesn't end at his house, it doesn't matter. As long as I can keep him away long enough for Harper to do his thing, I don't care where we end up. So I sit and look out of the window, trying not to show how tense I am whenever we get to a junction, bracing myself for what'll have to go down if Garrett really does decide to take me home.

We drive for maybe twenty minutes, and each of those twenty has me tracing through in my mind what Harper must be doing right now. By the time we pull up in front of the apartment building, I reckon Harper must be up to his eyes in Garrett's paperwork, and I don't envy him at all. All things considered, even with the chance that this'll all go south, I'd take this end of the job any day.

"This it?" I get out, standing with my hands on my hips as I look up at the front of the building. It's nice, but nothing fancy. I give a little chuckle. "I guess police work doesn't pay as much as it used to."

"It pays enough to buy a cheap punk like you." Garrett puts his hand on the back of my neck and pushes me toward the door, exactly as roughly as I want him to. I need him angry enough to give me a thorough working over, but not too much, not enough that he wants rid of me altogether. I need him to think he can teach me a lesson. So I let him push me into the lobby, keeping quiet like he's subdued me, and then once we're in the lift together I come up close and rest my hands on him, one on his shoulder and one on the buckle of his belt.

"Your usual boys, do they wait nicely until you've given an order?" I press up against him, grinding a little against his leg, and I let my hand slide down from his belt to his crotch, stroking him lightly. "Or do they get impatient and start taking matters into their own hands?"

Garrett grabs holds of my wrists and shoves me up against the wall of the lift, hard enough to drive a little grunt of pain out of me. "They do as they're told," he says, pinning me to the wall with the weight of his body. "Even if I have to beat the disobedience out of them first."

I can feel him, hard and obvious against my hip, and when I push back against his hands he just tightens his grip and presses harder against me. I'm going to have bruises on my wrists tomorrow, and the ways things are going I'll have them everywhere else too, so it looks like I really did get the best part of this job. And I intend to enjoy every minute of it.

When the lift doors open, Garrett lets go of one of my wrists and uses the other to pull me out into the hallway. I get the feeling he doesn't give a damn who sees him manhandling boys into his apartment, so maybe he's got this place on his payroll. Or maybe the people round here just know better than to look too long in a cop's direction. In any case, he pushes me into the flat and slams the door behind him like he doesn't care who hears, and that gives me the shivers. He could throw me around this place as much as he liked, he could break furniture, he could beat me until I'm howling loud enough to wake the dead. He could do anything he wanted to me, and that thought gets me harder than I've been for days.

He must see the lust in my eyes, because as soon as the door's closed behind him Garrett grabs me by the throat and just squeezes, long and hard enough that he can see me squirming and jerking my hips forward. "Interesting tastes," he laughs, and lets go of me, watching me standing there gasping for breath.

"You don't know the half of it." I smile up at him, rubbing my throat. "Think you can keep up with me?"

His palm comes down hard across my cheek, and the back of his hand follows right behind it, so I guess I've got my answer. Garrett grabs a handful of my hair and gives me another couple of slaps, hard enough that I'd be on the floor right now if he wasn't holding onto me, and I drink in the pain of it like I'm dying of thirst. I don't even realise I'm pawing at myself until he glances down and bats my hands away.

"You keep your hands to yourself until I tell you otherwise," he orders, giving my cheek another hard smack just to underline his point. "Understand?"

"Maybe," I grin, but another slap knocks that defiance back down a couple of notches, and I nod my head. My cheekbones are throbbing now, and my skin feels like it's on fire. When he lets go of me, I start dropping to my knees out of habit, but Garrett catches me by the throat and holds me upright. "Not yet," he tuts at me, and gives my throat another hard squeeze. "Not til I'm done warming you up."

He holds me there, and tugs my jacket open and off with his free hand, then does the same with my shirt, tightening his fingers around my throat each time I struggle against him, until I'm half-naked and choking in his grip. Then finally he lets go, but even then it's only to spin me around and snap my wrists into his handcuffs, locking them in place behind my back. Garrett really means business, he really knows what he's doing, and this is going to be about a million miles away from the last night I spent with a dirty cop. I tug against the cuffs a bit, pushing back just enough to show him I'm not going down without a fight.

"Go on," Garrett says, yanking my head back by the hair. "Struggle for me, you little punk. Let's see how long that spirit lasts."

And now he shoves me down to my knees, only it's a smack in the mouth that I get this time around. It's a good hard strike, hard enough to knock me onto my side, and before I've even pushed myself upright again, Garrett grabs hold of my hair again and pulls me back onto my knees. My mouth throbs and burns, my heart is hammering in my chest, and if I don't get to touch myself soon I'm going to go crazy. So I look up at him, giving him the biggest, most defiant smirk I can manage. "That the best you can do? My old man used to hit harder than that."

"Is that right?" Garrett hauls me up to my feet again, by the throat this time, with his fingers digging in hard right under my jaw. I can't see much with my head pushed back like this, but I can hear him unbuckling his belt with his free hand, and the sound of it makes my hips jerk forward again. He just laughs and throws me down across an armchair, turning me so I land face-down against the seat of it. "You think you're going to get it already? You're not just a punk, you're a _spoiled_ little punk."

And now I can hear him unlacing the belt from his trousers, and suddenly it's hard to breathe even without his hand around my throat. I squirm a little bit against him while he yanks my jeans down, but I'm not going anywhere. Even when that belt comes down to bite into the skin of my ass, I stay where I am. I'm going to take every second of this beating, everything Garrett can give me, and I'll still be asking for more when he's done. He works me over like he's trying to break me, laying into my thighs, my shoulders, my ass, every bit of muscle that can take a beating, and each swing of that belt gets me a little bit closer to begging to be fucked. My skin feels boiling hot now, and the ache inside me is gnawing and tearing at me, making it hard to think straight. Maybe I was in control at the start of this, maybe everything was going according to plan, but now all I want is sensation. All I want is to be hurt and held down, made to take it and made to admit I love it.

"Don't stop…" I groan, pressing up against the chair, rubbing myself against it, grateful for even a makeshift bit of contact. I know I'm supposed to keep Garrett busy as long as possible, but I can't wait any longer, and if Harper hasn't finished the job by now, then it'll have to stay unfinished.

Garrett yanks my head up again, and his other hand rests heavily on my back, right on the worst of the welts he's given me. "You can't ask nicely even when you're begging to be beaten, can you?"

I pull against his grip. "Doesn't look like it, does it?"

He laughs and shoves my head back down. I'm bracing myself for another round with the belt, but he walks over to the other side of the room and sits down on the sofa opposite me.

"Come here."

I start pushing myself to my feet, but he interrupts me, sharp and cold.

"No, I didn't tell you to get up. Stay on your knees and crawl."

Last time I crawled anywhere on my knees was for the boss, and that comparison isn't doing Garrett any favours. But I stay down, like a good boy, making my way across to the sofa on my knees, and by the time I'm kneeling at his feet I've pushed that unpleasant thought back down to where it can't get in the way of my plans.

"Up." Garrett orders, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me onto the sofa next to him. He arranges me like I'm just a prop, with my face a few inches from his lap and my ass up in the air where he can reach it easily, and that's when I spot the lube on the table next to him. So it looks like I'm going to get what I want sooner rather than later. I kneel there, leaning awkwardly on one shoulder, and I watch Garrett slowly unzipping his trousers and baring his cock, hoping all the while that he's not going to tell me to beg, because I think right now I'd fold in about two seconds flat. But luckily for me, he doesn't wait for an invitation. He just pushes my head down and slides his cock into my mouth, hauling me up and down by the hair, using my throat like I'm just a toy.

If he pulls out of my mouth for a minute, I'll be begging and pleading to be fucked before I've even caught my breath. So I go with his rhythm, sucking his cock as best I can with my hands bound, and I let him hear all the wet, muffled groans he's driving out of me. And then his other hand moves down and his fingers slide into my ass, and I'm begging now, desperately enough that he must be hearing the message loud and clear, even if every word is lost against the hard shaft in my mouth. I squirm back against his hand, taking as much of his fingers as he'll give me, rocking and shifting like I can't keep still, and honestly, the way his fingers move inside me, that isn't too far from the truth.

"Were you this much of a whore for him?" Garrett says, giving me another hard thrust of his fingers. And I'm glad I've got a mouthful of cock right now, because I can take a lot of humiliation, but I don't think I can take another jab in the boss's direction. So I give him another hungry moan and bury my face in his lap, hoping that the only thing he'll hear in my voice is lust.

"Well?" He hauls me up by the hair, and I look up at him, out of breath and sticky with saliva. I'm not answering that question, but I'll give him something better.

"Please," I say, breathy and hoarse. "I need it, please…"

And if I'd said that to the boss, there'd be about a fifty percent chance he'd leave me high and dry just to toy with me. But Garrett isn't the boss, and I'm just another cheap punk to him. He shoves me down onto the floor without a word, and I land hard on my knees, sprawling forward so that my cheek scrapes against the carpet. Another friction burn on my face, then, broadcasting loud and clear for the next few days exactly what I've spent my hiatus doing.

"Again." Garrett yanks hard on my hair, and I can feel him lining up his cock against the mouth of my ass, teasing me with just the slightest touch. "Beg for it."

"Fuck me, please…" My voice sounds raw, desperate and rough. "Do it, give it to me, come on–"

He thrusts into me, and my words turn into a long, low groan as he finally gives me what I've been wanting all night. It's fast and ruthless, and there's nothing in Garrett's touch but pure selfish lust. He holds onto the chain of the cuffs with one hand, and keeps the other gripping my hip, holding me in position as he uses me. All I can do is kneel there and take it, wincing and yelping every time his hips slam against the bruises on my ass, moaning as each thrust of that hard cock inside me shoves me a little bit further along toward finally being able to come. And then Garrett finishes, as hard and fast as he'd started, and before I know it I'm sprawled out on the floor, empty and frustrated and kicking myself for even hoping that I'd leave here satisfied.

Once he's uncuffed me, I make myself scarce as fast as I can. Getting cleaned up quickly isn't easy with my aching muscles making every movement painful, but I do the best I can. Which still isn't fast enough, evidently, because when I come out of the bathroom Garrett's waiting for me, counting out a few more notes from his wallet.

"Go on," he says, tucking the money into my jacket pocket and shoving me toward the door. "Get out."

So I guess extracting myself from the situation won't be a problem after all. I do as I'm told, but I pause at the doorway. "Oh yeah, by the way," I say, giving him a smile over my shoulder. "You should keep an eye on that Harper. Been pestering me for days, trying to get me to go straight, and he reckons he's _this_ close to getting rid of you."

"Do you think I didn't already know?" Garrett says, and his tone might be casual but his face is like thunder. He didn't know, alright, and he looks like he's not going to waste any time in getting rid of Harper before he's beaten to the punch.

"Alright, then." I shrug, and let myself out of the flat. Now all I need to do is wait, and keep my head down, while the rest of the plan takes care of itself.


	4. Chapter 4

I've been laying low, staying with a friend of a friend, for two weeks now. Two weeks of staying in this poky little flat, with just this one guy and the radio for company. Two weeks of having no idea whether my plan worked, whether Harper and Garrett took each other out, whether the boss has any idea what's happened to me. Two weeks is plenty. So I'm out the door before sunrise, and before I leave I put all the money I've got on me on the friend of a friend's mantel, with a note telling him to come and see me for the rest. Assuming I've still got a place to go back to, compensating this guy for the use of his flat is the least of my worries.

I set out into the fresh air for the first time in too long, with not much more of an idea what I'm doing than just to walk in the direction of the boss's territory. I just want to be back home. And luckily for me, I don't need any more of a plan than that, because before I've gotten to the end of the street, I hear footsteps behind me, and then it all goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Something cold and wet splashes in my face. I put my tongue out instinctively before I've fully opened my eyes, and the taste of expensive tonic water wakes me up about as much as the coldness does. I look up, flinching a little bit at how bright the light seems in here, and I flinch a lot more at the familiar smile on Joe's face. He's holding the empty glass in his hand, looking like he wishes he could go and get a refill, just to throw it in my face again.

"Did you enjoy your little holiday?" The boss's voice comes from behind me, and I twist around in the chair, trying to catch sight of him. And that's when I realise I'm tied to the chair.

"Not much," I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel. "You know I like to keep busy."

"Oh, you kept yourself busy alright, didn't you?" Joe puts his glass down and comes closer.

"Can it, Joe." The boss puts his hand on the back of my chair, finally coming around where I can see him, and he looks down at me with an expression I can't interpret. "He's right, though. Busy's an understatement."

I look up at him, and my eyes are sore and blurry with tonic water, but I hold his gaze as steady as I can. "Look, boss, I know it looks bad. Two detectives sniffing around me, and then I drop off the face of the earth for a month," I start off, and once I'm talking I don't seem to be able to stop. "But I did the only thing I could think of, I tried to keep them out of your hair and I did my best to make sure it all ended with me. So if you think I've flipped on you, then go ahead and let Joe do whatever he's itching to, because there's nothing else I can say."

The boss looks at me, just looks at me, and then he laughs that frightening laugh and slaps my cheek lightly. "It's lucky for you your scheme worked."

"It worked?"

Joe's laughter fills the room, and he interrupts like he can't resist spilling the story. "Oh, it worked, kid. Your nice cop Harper ratted out the other one like you wanted, but not before he'd been reassigned somewhere a long, long way away from here courtesy of his boss. Looks like the idea of being transferred out to the middle of nowhere was too much for him, and he decided to go and put a permanent end to his Garrett problem. Got picked up taking potshots at his old boss, and _bang_ –" Joe brings one fist down against his palm, grinning. "Both of them are tucked away nice and safe in prison, where unsavoury elements like them belong."

When Joe laughs again, I find myself laughing along with him because it just seems so unreal.

"A bloodless victory, eh?" The boss takes hold of my chin, and all of a sudden I'm not laughing any more. "Clever, but too complicated. So next time you find yourself in that kind of trouble, you come and see Joe, understand? No unnecessary risks."

"Yes, sir." I nod, as enthusiastically as I can with his fingers gripping my chin. But deep down I know as well as he does that as long as I'm working for him, I'll be getting myself into trouble, and getting out of it by the skin of my teeth, for a long while to come. And that's just the way I like it.


End file.
